The morning after the fire, Elira didn’t sleep.
The flames still danced behind her eyelids, Damien’s screams still echoing in the hollow between her ribs. She sat on the velvet chaise in Soren’s room, wrapped in one of his shirts, bare legs curled beneath her, watching the shadows stretch along the marble walls.
Soren was on the phone again.
He hadn’t stopped moving since they returned. One call to Vira. Another to the legal department. Three more to clean-up crews.
She wondered how many bodies he’d buried with that voice.
And how many lies.
He finally ended the call and turned to her.
“He’s gone,” he said. “Everything’s confirmed. Damien is dead. Burned and buried.”
Elira met his gaze.
“Good.”
But there was no triumph in her voice. Just exhaustion. And something else he hadn’t h
